


Memories of the Samurai

by Bellflower



Category: Samurai Warriors, Warriors Orochi
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, M/M, Sexual Content, Violent Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-09 19:27:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1995054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellflower/pseuds/Bellflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drabble collection for the Samurai Warriors fandom, which will contain all drabbles written by myself in the years 2014-2015. Definition of a drabble for these works will be fics of between 100 and 250 words.</p><p>Additional warnings will be added as necessary!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gracia + 'Loss'

“Don't go.”

The depth of sorrow in Tama's voice is alien even to her; the news of her father's death had coloured it with anger and hatred for a long time, emotions she had never truly known before that day. Said father looks down at her, his eyes filled with sadness.

“I have to,” Mitsuhide whispers. “The living and the dead... only in dreams can we meet, and you need to wake up, my dear.”

“Then I shall sleep forever!”

“No.”

Mitsuhide kisses his daughter's forehead, and she cries, feeling him grow distant already as wakefulness washes through her. Deep inside Tama knows this is the last time they will meet while her heart still beats, and that knowledge is the worst kind to gain.

“Live, Tama.”

The sun fills her vision, and he is gone.


	2. Ranmaru + 'Useful'

“Lord Nobunaga!”

Ranmaru is weak, he is bleeding out, every part of his body is screaming in agony. But he can't fall yet, he can't, he has to fulfill his duty and protect his Lord!

One step, two, three... his sword is too heavy for him now, so he drops it. There will be something else he can use, if only he can reach Lord Nobunaga. That's all that matters. Ranmaru has to find him, save him, be _useful_ to the man he has idolised for so long. 

“Lord Nobunaga...”

The fire blazes, the building crashes down around Ranmaru, and he falls to the ground. Though he struggles to stand again, it's no use; his body is dying fast, and no amount of willpower will make it move anymore.

“Lord... Nobu...”


	3. Motochika/Mitsuhide + 'Reunion'

Motochika appeared in Mitsuhide's tent during the second night of the latter's stay there. 

It was unexpected, truth be told; Mitsuhide was still getting his head around the idea that he had originally died during the battle of Honnouji, only being saved thanks to magic and time travel that was proving a challenge to understand. It was something he had been doubting had happened, and thus consuming his thoughts for quite some time. Little else had passed through his mind.

Now, though, it went right to the back of it. Motochika looked down at the sitting Mitsuhide and Mitsuhide _knew_ it was the truth. Nobody could have missed what was in Motochika's expression; the grief he had known was written clear there, along with the welcome disbelief and sheer, overwhelmingly powerful joy. Neither said a word; instead they were falling onto Mitsuhide's futon within seconds, and the lovemaking that followed left neither in doubt about the reality of their situation.

One adoring touch to Mitsuhide's lips said ' _you died_.'

Another, ' _you live_.'

' _I am with you_.'

They didn't speak afterwards, either; Mitsuhide rested within the protective circle of Motochika's arms and couldn't find the right words even within his own head. He had not seen this future without hope that Motochika had seen and could not know exactly what his friend had suffered, so all he could do was offer the comfort that his heartbeat offered.


	4. Motochika/Mitsuhide + 'Soulmate'

Many things kept Mitsuhide from moving on, but time and solitude gradually peeled most of them away until there was just one thing left. That wasn't something he could control, either; he was bound in place until a certain day came, one he didn't wish to come too soon.

When the red thread tugged and pulled, the samurai couldn't help but feel sad even as the excitement of the impending reunion filled him from head to toe.

(If he could truly be said to still possess those things, in the strictest sense of the words).

Motochika came through the mists, looking young and vivid, and Mitsuhide ran to him gladly. That which bound them almost seemed to shorten as they came together, but neither noticed. What need did they have for the visual, when they could feel it?

“Motochika.” Mitsuhide was crying, though he was not sure how. “I have missed you dearly, my friend.”

“Mitsuhide.”

The voice of his friend and soulmate was deep and happy, happy beyond words, and it swept away all sadness that Mitsuhide had been feeling. This man had led a good life, leaving no room for regrets; why be sad in the face of that? Now they could move on together, whatever death had in store for them.


	5. Takatora/Yoshitsugu + 'Ghost' [NSFW]

This was a dream, and the person beneath him long gone.

The part of Takatora that knew this had little power when faced with his heart, however. It wanted to believe that the ghostly-white apparition beneath him was real, that _he_ was here, that they had never gone their separate ways. No, they were together again, and each and every pleasured sigh and toss of the head was real; the blissful heat was definitely not fake, and the perfection of this union not conjured up by a desperately lonely mind.

_Say my name._

The dream man's lips did not move, but his pale eyes conveyed the message well enough on their own. Takatora thrust one more time before pressing his face against this beloved ghost's shoulder, silently praying that he would not ask that question again. 

_Say my name, Takatora_.

Because he couldn't do as asked, and that made Takatora remember in full that he had buried this man years ago... that he had chosen to forbid that name from passing from his lips in life. It was the one thing that could shatter the illusion conjured by his desperate heart.

The apparition faded, and he woke up amongst damp sheets, alone once more.


	6. Takatora/Yoshitsugu + 'Pain'

“You were always afraid of me; more than anyone else ever was.”

The apparition, or memory, or hallucination… whatever it was, Takatora tensed up the moment it spoke. He didn’t dare look it in the eye, though he wanted to; somehow he knew what it was going to say.

“That was why you never dared reach out and touch me, no matter how much your heart bid you to. You thought that would make it hurt more when the inevitable came, the inevitable you never wanted to acknowledge, and that scared you.”

 _Stop, stop, please_ … Takatora turned away, pressed his hands to his ears and closed his eyes tight, trying to banish away sound and tears. Both came anyway.

“Hopeless man…”

'Yoshitsugu’s’ voice was like a distant echo, a sound so dear it cut as deep as a knife even as it faded away.

“You were doomed to that pain from the very beginning.”


	7. Motochika/Mitsuhide + 'Encore' [NSFW]

“Mitsuhide.”

Motochika's voice was deep, satisfied, and far more audible than it had any right to be considering his mouth was pressed against the back of his lover's neck. The damp skin beneath those lips was probably already bruised, the result of eager kisses seeking to make their mark; Motochika always did seem to find his way there when they made love.

(And sometimes during one of his enthusiastic hugs from behind).

“Hmm?” Mitsuhide himself sounded like it was taking a lot of effort for him to talk. “Don't tell me you already wish for more? I find it hard to believe you can recover _that_ quickly.”

Motochika laughed, winding one arm around Mitsuhide's chest and holding on with an almost possessive grip as he did so.

“I always wish for more,” he murmured teasingly. “But right now I appreciate what we've already done, Mitsuhide. Your song tonight was exquisite.”

Had he been capable of flushing more, Mitsuhide might have done so. Instead he merely shook his head and closed his eyes; comfortable, warm and thoroughly worn out, there wasn't enough left in him for another 'song' tonight, so it was good indeed that Motochika had found enough satisfaction in the previous one.

The encore would come in the morning.


End file.
